


April dressed in all his trim

by lastwingedthing



Category: Astreiant Series - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: A quiet evening in spring.
Relationships: Philip Eslingen/Nicolas Rathe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	April dressed in all his trim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/gifts).



Even alone in the middle of a crowd of courting couples, there was pleasure enough to be found in a good eating house on the first really warm evening of the year. It had been a fine spring day, and the evening stayed so mild Rathe chose one of the long wooden tables outside for his seat while he waited for Eslingen to arrive.

The courtyard was paved with pale golden stone, scrubbed scrupulously clean. The trellis of vines overhead would be pleasantly shady come summer, but for now the branches were still bare enough to let in the last of the evening light, brightening and warming them. On top of the wide courtyard wall a small orange cat sat neatly folded, basking in the last of the sun with much the same air of enjoyment as Rathe felt himself.

A tidy well-dressed boy brought Rathe a small pitcher of wine, a plate of bread and hard rich yellow cheese. Rathe ate and drank very slowly, drawing out the pleasure; it was very good to have the wine to sip, a bite to eat to take the edge off his hunger and prevent him from becoming drunk before Eslingen arrived.

Slowly the sky turned reddish orange over to the west, while the rest of the sky darkened. The cat leapt off its wall and disappeared. A pair of very young girls who could have been the first boy’s sisters came round with long tapers in their hands, lighting the oil lamps with steady seriousness; the little lights flickered and danced among the twisted stems of the vines. Then a third girl, this one older, found a demure seat in the corner and began to sing, accompanied only by a small boy on a hand drum.

Her voice was clear and sweet, rising pleasantly above the low murmur of conversation without drowning it out. Rathe didn’t recognise the song, but the tune was very good.

The young boy brought another pitcher of wine, another small plate of fresh bread. This one had thick slices of northern-style ham and a few strips of pickled turnip for accompaniments; Rathe saved the pickles for last, savouring their crispness, the sharp salt on his tongue.

The stars were out, now. The little brisk breeze that had risen at sunset died again. Rathe considered a third small pitcher, thought better of it.

By the time Eslingen arrived at last, flushed and flustered with haste, the courtyard was growing quieter; the singer was gone, and many couples had already finished their meal and left. Eslingen looked around, running his hands through his curls in a vain attempt to tidy them, and swore.

“Nico,” he said, eyes dark. “I’m sorry.”

Rathe smiled at him lazily, feeling warm and relaxed; perhaps he was a little drunk after all. Eslingen, like this, was deeply appealing; his chest was still rising and falling fast, as if he’d run here, and Rathe guessed he was sweating under the neat lines of his blue coat. Rathe could almost imagine he could smell him, familiar and warm.

“Philip,” he said, hearing the smile in his own voice. “Don’t worry about it. Sit down.”

Eslingen shook his head, back and forth, but he did tuck the skirts of his coat neatly under himself and sit down at the bench facing Rathe.

“I really am sorry,” he said, eyes downcast. “This was my idea to come here tonight, and to be so late – I’m so sorry, Nico.”

“And haven’t I done the same to you, more times than either of us can count? I understand better than anyone, Philip. It couldn’t have been helped, I know.”

Eslingen blew out a dissatisfied breath, said nothing; Rathe knew he was still angry with himself.

Self-effacing, the young server arrived with two large steaming bowls of lamb and rice wrapped in cabbage leaves, set them down with a larger pitcher of wine and a few smaller dishes, and then withdrew.

“You were right – it is lovely here,” Rathe said, once the boy was gone. “These rolls smell wonderful, they have good wine, and I’m sorry you missed the singer, because she was sweet. Don’t tell me you’ve ruined my evening, because you haven’t.”

The corner of Eslingen’s mouth twisted up. “I wouldn’t have liked to spend so long here alone,” he confessed.

Rathe smiled back at him, wider.

“Luckily, I’m not you.” Under the table, he nudged Eslingen’s foot with his own. “Eat your dinner, Philip. It smells too good to let it sit.”

The dish _was_ very good – the lamb sticky and tender from the long cooking, with a lovely tart flavour from the mix of fresh and pickled cabbage. There was more bread to go with it, and a crisp salad of new spring greens.

Only when he’d almost finished did Rathe properly think back on what Eslingen had said.

“Do you always mind it, when I’m the one who’s late?”

“Not always,” Eslingen replied, after a moment’s thought. “Not when it’s just an ordinary evening at Wicked’s. But when we had plans for the theatre, or a nice eating house like this one…”

“Then I’m the one who ought to be sorry,” Rathe said, remorseful. “Seeing as I’ve been late so many more times than you.”

Eslingen shrugged. “And here I’ve done the same to you tonight, even though it’s a thing I hate. I did _try_ to leave on time, Nico.”

“I know what it’s like,” Rathe replied. “Maybe I ought to be grateful to you – you’ve made yourself into the cruel one, for once, and let me play the role of the self-righteous victim! Please don’t worry about it anymore, Philip.”

But Eslingen’s expression was still tight and drawn, and finally Rathe woke up to the fact that there might be a different problem after all.

“What happened tonight, Philip? Was it very bad?”

“No one is dead,” he replied, immediately and too fast. “It’s alright.”

He paused, drew in a breath, while Rathe waited.

“It isn’t alright," Eslingen said a moment later, face tight. "Do you remember Captain de Saluis – she was one of the first Coindarel recruited, sixteen quarterings and she’s kin to at least six of the great families, not to mention near seventeen years brave fighting in the army.”

“I do.” Rathe nodded slowly, not liking where this was going.

“She’s a thief,” Eslingen said, bluntly. “Some scheme with her leman, a magister – de Saluis left the charms her leman made in houses she visited as part of the guard, to bring the wards down from inside, and later her leman and their friends would visit and help themselves to what they liked.”

Rathe winced.

“And it wasn’t – she never went after the wealthy families, the nobility, just petty merchants and shopkeepers. Middling folk who might be overawed at a noble in a guard’s uniform. She thought it was her _right_ to take from them. To steal!”

Rathe sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last – but it was the first for Eslingen, and the betrayal had to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “It’s shameful, how some behave. Did you only find out this afternoon?”

Eslingen nodded. “She had a girl working with her, a junior. The poor girl was half in love with her, desperate to impress, so when she found one of de Saluis’s charms she thought she’d take it away and learn what it was for before she gave it back, so she could make herself look learned and experienced in front of the captain. Half broke her heart when she realised the truth. She came to Estradere this afternoon with it, and with her magister-in-training cousin who’d told her what it was for. Estradere’s been talking himself hoarse with every man and woman in the guards, trying to find out what we knew, while Coindarel faced the Metropolitan.”

Rathe grimaced and drank down the dregs of his wine in a gulp. “I don’t envy him.”

“Nor me,” Eslingen said, face grim. “It’s a blow, Nico. When this gets out in the broadsheets… who will trust us again?”

“They will,” Rathe said, slowly. “Not all at once – you’ll have some hard months ahead, I won’t deny it – but this happens, Philip. As ugly and as awful as it is. It will be harder for you, since the City Guard is so new, but you’ve done more good than ill already and in time the city will remember that.”

Eslingen shook his head, looking away. “So you say.”

“So I _know_. Do you think the points haven’t gone through this, many times? Remember Voillemin? Dammar? It’s human nature; you can’t change it, only keep a watchful eye on each other, and try your best to set a good example for those who waver either way.”

“I hate it, Nico,” Eslingen said in a whisper. “I hate that we can’t trust each other.”

Rathe reached out, laying his hand over Eslingen’s on the table; feeling the warmth of it, the taut strength.

“Some you can, Philip. Some you can.”

After a moment, Eslingen turned his hand over and gripped Rathe’s hand back.

They sat like that together for a long moment. The courtyard was quieter now, half empty, and the lamps were burning low; but the cheerful smell of good wine and cooking lingered.

Then the boy came back, with plates of strawberry tart and fresh thick cream, and the moment vanished; Rathe drew his hand back.

They ate slowly in silence, relishing the thick taste.

Then Eslingen reached out for Rathe’s hand again. He was smiling now; the dimming lamps cast shadows over his handsome, familiar face.

“Thank you, Nico,” he said, hoarsely.

Rathe gripped his hand hard.

“Whenever you need it,” he replied. “Always.”


End file.
